There was nothing in the way Casteno received me to suggest a man with a
guilty secret. On the contrary, as I advanced through the doorway that
led to the Green Dragon he stepped out boldly towards me the instant he
recognised me beneath the disguise which he himself had suggested.
"Welcome, my good friend," he said in a bluff and hearty fashion,
stretching out his hand; "Welcome!"
I took the greeting he proffered, although I turned my head away and
would not let him detect my real feelings. At first I was sorely
tempted to take him by surprise and to denounce him there and then as
the man who had stolen into Whitehall Court in those early morning
hours, climbed through that open bedroom window, and had killed poor
Colonel Napier, one of the truest and most loyal soldiers that ever
lived. But I crushed all those temptations down. There was much for me
to discover before I could show my suspicions so plainly as that. I had
to go very slowly and carefully to work.
"I am glad to see you," I answered at length, and that sentiment,
indeed, was true. I was glad--more glad than he could guess. "Let the
porter carry my luggage in, and let you and I have a walk."
"Excellent," said he, "that was just what I was going to propose if you
were not too tired." And giving the necessary directions to the hotel
servants he calmly linked his arm in mine, and led me down the street
towards the river, whither all the passers-by seemed to be hastening on
their way homeward after service at church.
"Well, and how did you get on with Miss Velasquon?" he asked later.
"Very badly," I returned. "I lost her at Vauxhall Bridge Station."
"Oh, never mind about that," he replied lightly. "Your duty ended as
soon as you arrived with her in London. As a matter of fact, I sent a
friend to intercept her at that point. He didn't quite understand
whether he could trust you or not, so he hit on that ruse by which she
slipped out of the carriage whilst you were looking out at an opposite
platform. She wired me, however, that you had had some extraordinary
adventure on the way up. What was that?"
"Oh, merely some women tried to lure her off to Broadmoor Lunatic
Asylum," I snapped. "Why on earth didn't you tell me I was safe when we
reached town? Do you know, I searched the station from top to bottom
before I decided your friend had come to no harm."
"No, I don't. In fact, I am very sorry about what the man whom I sent
did. I was, however, under the impression that I had told you not to
worry after she had reached town. The real danger existed on the way
up. I had most specific warning that it was on the actual journey from
Southampton Lord Fotheringay would make the semi-criminal effort he did
to get her out of my hands."
"Why should he?" I demanded, stopping suddenly and gazing fixedly at
the speaker.
"Why should two men ever strive after the same sweetheart?" Casteno
answered, his features flushing crimson. "Call it Life--Fate--
Providence--Luck--Destiny--what you like. There it is. It often
happens. The whole truth is, the earl and I are both in love with
Camille Velasquon. She prefers me, hence his quest for the documents is
mixed up in a thirst for personal revenge."
"And the documents you asked her to bring?" I cut in suddenly, "what of
those? Are they love letters?" And a quiet smile of derision showed
itself at the corners of my mouth. "Do you want them, or are they to go
into the archives of the Order of St Bruno as quaint but interesting
curiosities?"
"Neither," said Casteno simply. "They are more important, much more
important, than lovers' effusions. They give the keys to various
ciphers used by the Jesuits in the early days of their Order in Mexico.
Is there anything else you would like to ask?" Then seeing he had put
me to some confusion he went on with great earnestness: "Look here, man,
why don't you trust me a little more? Don't you see that there must, in
a quest like this we are engaged upon, be a hundred details about which
I cannot give you my confidence? Why not be content to labour in the
dark until the time for the light comes? As it is just at present, I
satisfy you for a day easily and perfectly enough, but it is only for a
day. Something you don't expect happens, and lo! I find about me a
cloud of distrust, suspicion, and unpleasant suggestion that takes out
of me every bit of heart and pluck."
"Is not that your own fault?" I blurted out. "Are not your actions
calculated to excite distrust? Carry your memory back to the last time
you were in my office in Stanton Street. What happened then?"
"Nothing of great account." But now he went very pale.
"Are you quite sure of that?" I queried in the gravest tones. "Think
again. Examine your conscience again. What about that dagger of yours?
Why did you get up and sharpen it on the hearthstone directly you
thought I should not see you?"
The Spaniard started, and recovered himself with an effort. "Because I
had had a fright," he stammered. "In an idle moment I had looked
through the window and there I saw a man who had vowed to take my life."
"I cannot believe you," I cried. "You must convince me. Tell me who
was this foe?"
"My own brother," he muttered, turning away from me with an impatient
gesture and quickening his steps. "You have seen him yourself. The
hunchback called him Paul--"
"Then," I gasped in amazement, "you--you are the hunchback's son?"
"Of course I am," he retorted. "I thought you guessed that directly you
saw Paul when we were up in that recess watching my father put on his
disguise. The relationship seemed so evident that I did not feel there
was any necessity to explain it."
"But you call yourself Casteno?"
"No; I changed my name after I had quarrelled with my father some years
ago and got employment in the Royal Household of Spain. I purchased the
right to do so--"
"Then you talk English like a native."
"So does the hunchback."
"And when that morning you saw your brother," I went on, breaking away
on a new tack, "why did you go after him?"
"To make peace if I could. As it was doubtful I prepared myself also
for war."
"And did you find him?"
"No; he was too quick for me. I slipped as hard as I could to his
chambers in Embankment Mansions in Whitehall Court, but he was not in
them. They were closed and locked."
"Embankment Mansions in Whitehall Court," I repeated. "That is where
Colonel Napier lives." And as I uttered the name of the dead officer I
scrutinised every line on Casteno's face.
"Of course it is," he responded, and not the smallest sign of excitement
did he exhibit. "Paul, for some years, has had a set of chambers over
the flat occupied by Colonel Napier. He has got one of those wild,
hopeless passions that sometimes seize the lowly born for girls in the
higher ranks of life, for Miss Napier."
"Not Miss Doris Napier!" I interjected.
"Oh yes, Miss Doris. The thing is almost laughable--except for Paul,
who is absolutely crazy on the subject, and who has often told me that
on the day you are formally engaged to her he will shoot you like a
dog."
"Pleasant for me," I observed, "extremely pleasant. Your father and I
are old friends; how is it he didn't warn me?"
"He always hoped that Paul would come to his senses. He was ashamed of
the lad's madness. He trusted that some other girl would appear on the
scene to fascinate Paul. Besides, he did tell Colonel Napier about it.
The colonel and he are related, as a matter of fact. Both of them
married step-sisters; but my mother died many years ago."
"I had no idea of this."
"No doubt," returned the Spaniard courteously. "Lovers don't usually
trouble to inquire as to the relations of the girls they love until
after marriage. If they did, cynics say that they would spare
themselves a good many highly unpleasant surprises. The colonel, of
course, was equally annoyed about this infatuation, and I am told that
only a few days ago he met Paul on the stairs of the flat and gave him a
good beating with his cane for daring to send Miss Napier a bunch of
flowers. Perhaps, however, this is only idle gossip. I heard it from a
servant whom my father had recently dismissed. He said that Paul was so
incensed at this outrage that he would have stabbed the colonel dead on
the spot if he had had his dagger with him. Luckily, he had forgotten
that morning to fasten it on--"
"I am not so sure about that," I answered slowly and with great
distinctness, "although, now I came to think of it, I did recollect that
in the old days Doris had told me a good deal about the persecutions she
had suffered from the ridiculous attentions of a foreign boy who lived
in the set of rooms above theirs--attentions, I am sorry to say, I had
only laughed to scorn."
"Not so sure!" echoed my companion in tones of genuine disgust and
horror. "Why, would you, Mr Glynn, have liked my brother to make an
attempt on his uncle's life?"
"That would have been better than what happened," I returned meaningly.
"Why, what was that?" cried the Spaniard in alarm.
"Somebody crept into his bedroom as the colonel slept and stabbed him to
the heart--to be precise, the exact hour you left me to search for
Paul."
"Good heavens!" gasped Casteno, falling back. "Then the wretched boy
has broken loose from his reason and carried out his insane idea of
revenge! Ah! now I see it all. That was why I caught him lurking about
your office! He had tracked Colonel Napier there earlier, and had no
notion that he had returned to Whitehall Court until he saw a strange
figure at your door."
"Even that doesn't explain who killed the clumber spaniel Fate."
"I think it does," urged Casteno stoutly. "The dog knew, somehow, he
had done wrong to his master and would not leave him. In a fit of
passion and terror Paul whipped out his knife and stabbed him."
"But that would happen near Whitehall Court. How came the dog to die in
a passage near Stanton Street?"
"He must have been making for your office: remember all dogs have odd
gleams of foresight at times."
For a few moments we walked on in silence. The duel had been a sharp
one and a long one, but already I was possessed with an uncomfortable
suspicion that the Spaniard had won. Even as I surveyed the ruins of my
theories I was conscious that little was left to connect Casteno with
the murder.
"But do you think your brother Paul will be discovered?" I asked.
"I cannot tell," said Casteno, and I could see now he was sincerely
grieved at the disastrous intelligence I had communicated to him.
"There are sure to be plenty of people in Embankment Mansions who will
remember the caning which the lad had from the colonel on the stairs.
They will be certain, when they recover their wits, to give the police
the details of that affray; also there is that discharged servant I
spoke of--the man Butterworth. He hates Paul like poison. He will
leave no stone unturned, I am certain, to connect the lad with the
crime.
"Still, mere suspicion is one thing, and evidence strong enough to
warrant arrest is another," he added after a moment's careful
consideration. "Perhaps, after all, I am wrong. Somebody else may have
done it. We shall see."
"Whoever it is I shall do my best to bring them to justice," I cried
hotly. "I don't care whether it is Paul Zouche--"
"Of course not," replied Casteno with much dignity. "I have no doubt
you will communicate all I have repeated to you to Scotland Yard.
Indeed, I never had any two opinions on that score. At the same time
you must excuse me if I don't evince any keen desire to debate the
matter further."
"I never asked you to do so," I retorted, anxious not to be outdone in
courtesy by the Spaniard. "All your statements to me were practically
volunteered."
"True," said Casteno. "As a matter of fact, I felt they were honestly
due to you. I saw that my absence from your rooms at the time when the
colonel was murdered looked very ugly for me. Very ugly, indeed."
"Particularly after you had warned the man only an hour previously that
if he didn't do a certain thing, which he subsequently declined to do
for you, he would regret his action before four and twenty hours had
passed."
"Quite so. Quite so. All the same, that was but a figure of speech.
Myself, I had no idea of violence or revenge. My sole impression was of
his gross injustice to yourself, which I felt Time himself would most
quickly avenge.
"Still," he went on, and now his tones were particularly grave, "don't
let us go on debating this business further. It is very awful--it is
dreadfully tragic--and it seems to strike right at the heart of the
family life of us both. Let us leave it where it stands. I am sure
myself a crime like that, in the heart of London, can't remain hidden
for many days, particularly with such assistance as you will be able to
give the police when you have a few moments to spare to write or to wire
to the headquarters staff at Scotland Yard. Therefore don't pursue the
matter with me any longer. Realise that you, and I too, are engaged on
a business of gigantic international importance. Aren't you curious to
hear what I have arranged since I sent you that telegram informing you
my father, as I suppose I must now call the hunchback when I speak of
him to you, had picked up with this flying machine inventor, Sparhawk,
and had actually determined to go on a journey through the air with him
to-morrow in a brand new flying machine?"
"I am very curious," I admitted. "I had no idea old Peter had such
adventurous tastes."
"Nor have any of his friends. Yet such is the fact. He has really two
natures--the student's and the explorer's,--always at work within him;
and I never knew him have a big job on, like the deciphering of those
three manuscripts relating to the Lake of Sacred Treasure, that he has
not eased the strain on his brain, caused by the hours of close
attention which the work demands, by going on some wild excursion of
this sort. Curiously enough, too, he has always believed in flying
machines. It has been one of the dreams of his life to patent one which
he could present to Spain for use in warfare. Indeed, all the time
Santos-Dumont was making those daring ascents of his in Paris he haunted
the French capital in the hope he might pick up some tips for his own
models, which he keeps in a disused stable near the Crystal Palace, and
which he works on every Sunday after he has heard Mass in that
impressive-looking church in Spanish Place."
"But how about his studies?" I asked.
"Oh, he doesn't find Shrewsbury hotel life agree with him. He and
Sparhawk are only waiting here until the fete to-morrow, and then
they'll career off; and wherever they drop, even if it is only in a
village seven miles away, they will not trouble to come back here.
They've quite resolved to cut off to some other part of England, but
where, I can't for the life of me find out. Still, I think I have done
very well to book up the only two seats they offered for sale to the
public, don't you? We shall have to be careful, of course, or they will
see through our disguises. At all events, they'll find it hard to shake
us off--"
"Unless the apparatus goes wrong and drops us to earth."
"Well, we must take all those risks, mustn't we? And, by Jove, talking
of angels, here we can see two of them--at least, there are Captain
Sparhawk and the worthy hunchback walking off together up the street
yonder. Let's follow them. By the way in which they've put their heads
together they're up to no good I am certain. Just before you came I
peered through the keyhole of my father's room, and I saw him hard at
work on the manuscripts. Now, what on earth can have happened to have
made him give it up so suddenly and dress himself up as though he were
going for a long journey?"
"He may have discovered something startling and strange," I answered, a
great fear now in my heart. "Those documents may have yielded up their
secret to him. See! he's going in the direction of the railway station.
He may be going back to town."
"Or to the shed where Sparhawk keeps his flying machine. It lies in
this direction--in a street parallel with the railway station. Luckily,
we have not far to go before we shall see what they are up to.
Personally, I don't like the look of things at all." And we both of us
quickened our pace.
Outside a fence that skirted a long and rambling garden they were joined
by a third companion--a girl attired in a bright summer costume, who
chatted with them gaily as they marched steadily forward.
"Who can that be?" cried Casteno, much puzzled. "I did not know my
father had any woman friends."
"Well, let's slip to the other side of the street," I suggested. "Then
we can catch a glimpse of her face. The figure certainly seems very
familiar to me, although my short sight often plays me the strangest of
pranks."
We stepped quickly across the road, and with a few strategic movements
materially lessened the space between us and the trio in front.
A moment later the girl turned her face in the direction of the
hunchback, evidently to exchange some jest with him, for her features
were wreathed in smiles.